


Crux

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, soul mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 13:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11208933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elrond finally sees Lindir bare and discovers more.





	Crux

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for the-puppets-mistress’s “7 Soul Mark Elrondir” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/161379570810/au-prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

After spending a long, particularly grueling day in Thranduil’s council, Elrond welcomes the soothing warmth of the hot springs licking up his skin. He slips into the lengthy pool with a contended sigh, and, as promised, all his troubles seem to melt away.

He’s known of these wonders for some time, of course, though he’s rarely had the chance to indulge—usually, Thranduil’s difficult temper keeps him up through the night. Tonight was a pleasant change, and all of his delegation were told of this place upon first entering the kingdom. The Woodland elves spoke of it with pride, as they should, and some of Elrond’s younger attendants grew wide-eyed at the promise. Even at this late hour, the hall lit only by low-burning sconces in the walls, Elrond’s surprised to find the chamber empty. There are many such rooms woven about the lowest level of Thranduil’s keep, strung together like a maze with changing rooms set between, but this farthest one was relegated to his people. After a certain comment made over dinner, Elrond can’t help but wonder if it’s Thranduil’s attempt to minimize fraternization. 

For his part, Elrond doesn’t mind—the privacy affords him peace and quiet, and he can shed the guise of lord to simply be _Elrond_. With his hair bundled above his head and not a scrap of clothes to his long frame, he rests on a submerged ledge with the bubbling froth ebbing against his chest. This is the one place Elrond envies, the only place Imladris has no equivalent of. It’s been well missed.

Elrond loses track of time in his respite, until he’s shaken from his quiet reverie by the opening of the oak door that connects this room to all the others. Elrond can’t help but follow the movement and see the lithe creature that slips through, clad in only a white towel clutched tight about his middle.

Lindir, Elrond’s personal attendant, and the loveliest of all Imladris’ gems in Elrond’s personal opinion, takes a few steps into the room. His eyes are automatically fixed on the steaming pool before him. Then he spots Elrond along the rim, and his eyes widen, his steps faltering. He hugs the towel tighter against himself, thought it does little good—there isn’t enough fabric to cover more than his chest and the tips of his luscious thighs. Elrond forces himself to keep his gaze only at Lindir’s face, as he always does, though he’s never been faced with quite _this_ level of temptation. Lindir’s helped dressed him many times, and yet, it belatedly occurs to him, he’s never seen Lindir bare in return. 

He hadn’t meant to start tonight, and he ducks his head in quiet greeting. Lindir splutters, as he often does when caught by surprise, then he drops into a too-low bow that makes his messy bun slide forward. He stutters, “My sincerest apologizes, my lord! If I had known you were here, I... I-I shall come back later—”

“There is no need for that,” Elrond interrupts, knowing that if he doesn’t, he’ll miss the chance before Lindir bolts. Lindir slowly straightens again, as Elrond’s often bid him. His cheeks are already a delicate pink, only adding to his soft beauty. In the orange glow of the fire and the bubbling water, he looks more ethereal than ever. Elrond tells him, “The baths are meant for many, and there is plenty of room.”

Lindir glances at the wide basin, only to return to Elrond. His gaze pauses along Elrond’s chest before wrenching up to Elrond’s eyes, and he blushes deeper. He murmurs, “I do not wish to impose.”

Elrond says in no uncertain terms, “You are never an imposition.” Yet no matter how many times he says it, Lindir never seems to believe him.

Lindir hesitates, his slender fingers working along the towel, and he bites his bottom lip, cutely chewing it between his teeth—it’s a nervous habit he probably doesn’t know he has. He’s adorable and far too alluring to have so close, let alone so bare, but Elrond couldn’t send him away for a multitude of reasons. Then Lindir finally sucks in a breath and slowly nods, resuming his steps forward.

Though Elrond longs to stare and drink every last second in, he politely looks away as Lindir nears the pool and sheds his towel. The Woodland elves seem to have little modesty when it comes to the hot springs, but that isn’t the way of Imladris, and Lindir is one of the shiest elves Elrond knows. He doesn’t look again until he’s heard the distinctive splash of entry and given Lindir time to settle. Then he turns again, readying a gentle smile, only to freeze in place.

His eyes completely bypass Lindir’s, instead falling and fixing on the small soul mark scrawled across Lindir’s breast, engraved over his heart, dark as ink but as natural as a flower. It twists in a wind-like spiral, traces the outlines of a jewel, and branches out like wings or petals around it. Elrond eyes every aspect of the pattern, though he already knows it in his own heart. It takes a long moment for him to meet Lindir’s eyes. He breathes, “Your soul mark...” but doesn’t know how to finish.

Lindir’s lashes fall low on his cheeks, a supple shiver wracking his thin frame. He parts his lips but only pauses, then licks them tentatively, then nods his head and whispers, “I am sorry.”

Elrond, puzzled amidst a flurry of other emotions, presses, “For what?”

Lindir hesitates longer this time. His form is tense, almost trembling, and Elrond feels the insurmountable urge to _hold him_ but resists, for Lindir’s comfort as much as answers. Lindir explains in a shaken voice, “I... I have helped you dress so many times, my lord, and though... though I have never seen _all_ of you, I have seen... of course I knew... but... I never wanted to burden you with this knowledge, that no great lord or lady waited for you, that it was only, ah...” He trails off, shaking his head, but Elrond already knows the rest. He sees the oft-present self-disparagement on Lindir’s face, and it makes his heart clench as it always does. 

He answers quietly, “Surely you know by now, my darling song bird, how very much I value you.”

If possible, Lindir’s blush grows, magnifying the flush the gathering steam has given him. A timid smile graces his lips, and he finally looks up, though he still can’t quite seem to meet Elrond’s eyes head on. He murmurs, “I know, but... this is different. I am taking the place of someone else.”

“And it is unfair indeed,” Elrond counters, “for one so young and beautiful as you to be bound to someone so much older and wearier, let alone someone with unfair power over you.”

Lindir almost laughs, the noise a small snort of incredulity. “Unfair to _me_?” he asks. “When I am afforded the knowledge that I was made for the most handsome, valiant, and wise elf in all the world? I assure you, my lord, my soul mark has long been my greatest treasure.”

More surprise seeps into Elrond, though there’s little room left. He knows, of course, of Lindir’s fondness for him, but he hadn’t expected Lindir’s frank acceptance. Lindir lets out a lilting sigh and continues, “I have always known I loved you, Lord Elrond. I knew when my mark first began that it would grow to match yours. And even for the doom it has brought you, I have guiltily adored it all the same.”

Elrond can’t help himself any longer. He reaches out, lifting one water-wrinkled hand to ghost along Lindir’s breast, turning to face him properly, marveling at the smoothness of his skin, the softness, and the shallow indentations of his fate. As soon as Elrond’s fingers connect, though they only touch lightly, Lindir shivers and breathes, “My lord...”

“How could I have missed this?” Elrond wonders beneath his own breath. “Something so wondrous as this, right before my very eyes... and it took a journey all the way to the Woodland Realm to find it. I would fret more, and insist you save yourself for someone less wizened, but... I am not arrogant enough to claim to know more than the Valar.”

“Then you are not displeased?” Lindir carefully asks, voice full of hope that Elrond wouldn’t defy if he could. 

“On the contrary,” Elrond promises, “I am very grateful to our lords.”

Lindir’s gaze flickers up to Elrond’s eyes. Elrond sees now why he hid them; Lindir’s irises are dilated and wide with want, pleasure, and a giddiness that Elrond hasn’t felt in years. His body is seized with similar delight, and, surprisingly, Lindir is the first to lean forward.

Lindir tentatively brushes his lips over Elrond’s, and Elrond presses back into the kiss, gentle but warm; he has a dozen decades of passion to bestow upon his blessed attendant. He tries to kiss Lindir again after, but Lindir is already moving to wrap around him, drawing damp, firm arms about Elrond’s body. Elrond places a hand against the small of Lindir’s back and returns the tight embrace. It’s wildly fulfilling already, and it makes Elrond gradually more aware of their nakedness. In a way, that openness is oddly fitting. 

They’re both blushing when they part. Elrond teases low, “Perhaps we should share dinner before we go any further.”

Lindir nods. And they share another kiss, both soft and extraordinary.


End file.
